


Soothsaying

by DragonTail



Series: Transformers: Cybertron [8]
Category: Transformers (Unicron Trilogy), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Cybertron
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonTail/pseuds/DragonTail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The origin of the Transformers: revealed! The Rodimus/Arcee relationship: redefined! The truth about Vector Prime: uncovered! As <i>Transformers: Cybertron</i> hurtles toward its conclusion, Optimus Prime and his team learn more about their world... and themselves... than might otherwise be comfortable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nightbeat looked over the edge of the thin bridge and into the dizzying depths of the Stellar Galleries. Far, far below sat the Oracle Tank – a luminous, iridescent well that seemed to bubble from the centre of Cybertron itself. Its cobalt and gold surface undulated gently, forever shifting shape and defying all description.

Optimus Prime had warned him not to look directly into the tank. Mythology held the reservoir was an extension of the Matrix itself, a portal into the past, future and worlds outside of both. Those named as the Prime had to survive immersion in the tank, which could reputedly drive normal Transformers mad, as part of their initiation.

Nightbeat was no ordinary Transformer. Unique amongst his race, he possessed the ability to segment his processor – what humans would call his brain – down the middle, allowing him to do two completely separate things at once. This skill made him the detective that he was. Half of his mind was forever running through the evidence, sifting suspects and questioning alibis. The other took him through more mundane tasks like walking, recharging and fighting the never-ending war with the Decepticons.

Trusting in his abilities, Nightbeat bisected his brain. Half placed a target lock on the Transformer in front of him – Grimlock, the mighty lieutenant commander of the Autobot forces – to ensure he walked a straight line. The other directed his optical sensors at the heart of the Oracle Tank.

Images formed on the surface of the “water”. Nightbeat saw another mechanoid, looking back at him. He realised he was looking at himself – although the being staring from the tank looked completely different.

Nightbeat had a silver face, orange optics and twin exhaust pipes on either side of his head. His armour was black-and-white, and he looked something like an Earth police car. The “reflection”, meanwhile, had a yellow-and-orange faceplate under a blue helmet, with small laser rifles sticking up like antenna on either side. The other Nightbeat’s body was blue and yellow, more like an Earth car called a Porsche than a police car.

As Nightbeat watched, its head detached from its body. With a blur of motion, the head transformed into a smaller robot – no, an armoured human! – and stood proudly atop the now-decapitated robot’s shoulders. Then the human’s armour changed from blue and yellow to shades of pink and white. Its face softened and became unmistakably feminine.

The girl transformed into a robotic head that was something like Nightbeat’s own but, again, different. It was also pink and white, with a soft expression and ruby-hued lips. It connected to a body decorated in similar shades – a body favouring smooth curves and elongation over sturdiness. Thin fingers slipped around an elegant black blaster and the reflection posed, its free hand perched on its curved hip, and blew a kiss to Nightbeat.

He felt somewhat queasy, looking at himself as a fembot.

“Hey! Hold up!” cried a voice behind him, and Nightbeat realised one of his feet was dangling off the bridge. Strong hands grabbed him by the upper arms and hauled him back, just as he began to lose his balance.

The detective turned and smiled ruefully at his comrade, the Autobot gunner called Silverstreak. “Thanks,” he said lightly. “And… how embarrassing.”

“Forget it,” Silverstreak said in his usual affable manner. “Optimus figured you’d have to gaze into the abyss _sometime_ , which is why I’m bringing up the rear – to stop you taking a dive where only Primes dare.”

Nightbeat regained his bearings and trudged on, both halves of his processor focused firmly on Grimlock’s thick-plated back. That had been silly of him, letting his curiosity get the better of him during such an important mission.

He’d been seeking distractions ever since he returned from Gigalonia… looking for anything to take his mind off of Checkpoint. His SWAT team partner was fighting for his life in a CR chamber. Three things had put him there: Nightbeat’s impatience, the Decepticon called Wheeljack, and a mad quest outlined by an untrustworthy soothsayer.

That soothsayer, Vector Prime, was just ahead of Nightbeat. The ancient Transformer was in the custody of Grimlock, who clung to him with particular savagery. Everyone in the convoy – even Optimus Prime – had reason to be furious with Vector Prime and his quest. All had lost comrades, suffered serious injuries or been deceived.

Ahead, Optimus tapped a switch. A portal irised open and a thin bridge extended below his feet. The convoy walked out into the cool, dry skies of Cybertron, miles above its metallic surface. This time, Nightbeat did not look down… heights had never been one of his strong points. The thin bridge jutted into the wall of the Decagon – the Autobot’s fortress-like command centre – that also split open.

The golden room was in a part of the Decagon that Nightbeat had never seen before, one far higher up in the fortress than the rank-and-file were allowed. Its walls were unmarked by door, corridor or view screen. The only furniture was a round steel table and matching chairs. It seemed the only way in or out of the room was via the bridge and the Stellar Galleries, making it the most remote and secure of locations.

With a start, he realised he was in the meeting room of the elite – the small group of Autobots who served as Optimus Prime’s most senior advisors. The shapes of the chairs bore out his theory. One was wider and more reinforced than the others, no doubt to take the weight of Ultra Magnus. Its neighbour had deep fingermarks in its armrests – likely a sign of Grimlock’s impatience.

The third chair faced the door and appeared to be fused to the floor that way, which fit with Silverstreak’s gunman mentality. Next to it was a seat with a large pouch that bulged with medical equipment – Red Alert did not like being away from the tools of his trade. The final chair was simple, roughly sculpted and achingly modest. It looked like the style of chair archivists had used in the days before the war. Still, Nightbeat was not surprised when Optimus Prime sat in it and called the others to attention.

With a snarl, Grimlock threw Vector Prime into Ultra Magnus’ chair and ordered him to sit still. He took his customary place and Silverstreak did the same. Nightbeat, following vorns of conditioning as a soldier, remained standing.

Optimus Prime looked at him fondly. “Red Alert won’t mind your borrowing his seat, Nightbeat. Please, join us… you’re here because we all respect your opinion and could use your help with this one.”

The elite… wanted his help? His fuel pump roaring with excitement, Nightbeat slipped into the doctor’s chair, made careful note to avoid the various scalpels and torches sticking out of the pouch, and settled in for the meeting.

\-----

The spy was crouching by the door, one audio sensor pressed to the thick steel. Just minutes ago, Optimus Prime and the others had vanished through that door, off to hold one of their secret meetings. Whatever they were discussing in there, Rodimus decided, was not for the prying “ears” of a furtive listener.

He gripped his Energon rifle in his hand and crept, delicately, toward the spy. He drew within an arm’s length and levelled his blaster at the dead centre of the spy’s cranial casing. “Freeze, you traitorous wench,” he hissed.

The spy struck out, cobra-like, and disarmed him with a single blow. Her other hand reached around and grabbed his free wrist. She pivoted on her ankles, tossing the red-and-gold Autobot over her head and into the unyielding metal of the door. Rodimus yelped as he bounced off the steel and landed, on his back, on the ground.

His assailant leaped on top of him and pinned both his wrists to the ground. Spread-eagled, Rodimus grinned. “I know you missed me, Arcee, but _really_ … couldn’t you wait until we were alone?”

Arcee made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and helped Rodimus back up. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” she snapped, returning to her place by the door. “I’m trying to find out what’s going on – why they’ve arrested Vector Prime – and you’re playing protoform games! Grow up, Rodimus.”

He flinched – the rebuke hurt far more than the blow to the arm. “What’s the matter, femme?” he asked, sliding his hands around her waist. “I was just trying to…” Rodimus yelped again as Arcee’s hands wrapped, vice-like, around his own and shoved them from her waist. “Hey!” he exclaimed.

“Just… just get lost, will you?” she said, a strange tone in her voice.

Rodimus stepped back and scratched his head. He and Arcee had always shared a certain affection. He felt differently about her than the other Autobots, cared more deeply about her fate. Arcee had always returned the sentiment, and they’d spent a lot of time together both in and out of combat.

On the trips to and from Speedia he’d wondered if she was okay, concerned that she was on a mission with that blasted “ex-Decepticon”, Thundercracker. Now it seemed she couldn’t give a tumble as to whether he was alive or dead, as to how he’d fared on his own mission. What had changed?

“I dislike it when commanders take their leave and have… discussions,” said a guttural voice. Snarl, the wolf-like Autobot from the planet Animatros, padded across to them. “It speaks ill of their faith in their troops.”

“I can’t hear a thing,” Arcee sighed, frustrated.

“Allow me,” Snarl offered. As Rodimus watched, the blue-and-white robot transformed into a gigantic wolf, complete with razor-sharp teeth and wicked claws. The beast cocked its ear to the sealed entrance and paused, deathly still. Moments passed before the steel creature shook its head. “Nothing,” he growled. “This augers darkly.”

“Cool your engines, doggy-bot,” sneered a new voice – one that made Rodimus groan inwardly. Thundercracker was balancing the point of his wing-sword on the tip of an outstretched finger. His optics were fixed on the upraised handle, as if he were performing some sort of cyber-circus trick. “Some leaders can be trusted to talk amongst themselves. I should know… I’ve seen both types.”

Snarl transformed, thrusting his lupine head into Thundercracker’s field of vision, and slapped the sword away. “Long has it been since I took the word of a Purple Mask as an order,” he rasped. “And long shall it be before I do so again.”

Thundercracker looked over to his sword, then back to Snarl, and grinned sardonically. “Another traitor,” he breathed. “I’m making a habit of taking out scum like you.”

Rodimus threw himself between the furious pair just as they drew their weapons. “All right, that’s enough out of you two,” he said through clenched teeth. “Calm down, now, or I’ll _make_ you calm down.”

“You and what army, kid?” Thundercracker asked.

Rodimus didn’t answer – he pointed. The sound of raised voices had drawn the rest of the Autobots to the door of the Stellar Galleries. Downshift and Swoop were in the lead, followed by Swerve and Blur. Behind them all loomed Landfill, the mammoth Gigalonian ex-patriot who was really four Transformers in one. “You don’t need an army when you have friends, Thundercracker,” Rodimus grinned.

Arcee slammed a fist into the door and stood up. “I hope you’re all happy,” she bellowed, transforming into vehicle mode. The pink-and-black motorbike revved her engines and tore off, away from the Stellar Galleries and into the maze-like streets of Iacon.

Rodimus went to follow her, but someone snagged his arm. “Not your place, little man,” Thundercracker said. He was twice Rodimus’ height and seemed to radiate darkness, even though he was – allegedly – on their side. “Even an idiot like you should be able to see the lady wants to be alone.”

“When I want your opinion, Decepticon, I’ll give it to you,” Rodimus snarled, snatching his arm free. His body shifted shape and became a fiery red truck before he, too, accelerated toward the inner city.

For a two-wheeler, the fembot was fast. Rodimus had difficulty keeping up with her. He made ground whenever the road was wide, but lost it on the sharper turns. Arcee was also better at slipping through traffic, while Rodimus’ bulk often trapped him behind slower-moving vehicles. He blared his horn and called for mechs to move, drawing angry responses from ‘bots he recognised – Armourhide, Side Swipe and Longrack. Eventually he passed them all and found Arcee sitting, alone, on the steps of the Tower of Pion.

He transformed and tried to ignore the way she sighed. “You can’t take a hint, can you?” she said. “Always the hot shot, tearing off without thinking.”

“Sometimes I care too much to stop and think,” Rodimus replied, and her face softened. For a moment, he could see the femme he cared about so much – the competent but caring warrior who’d hugged him goodbye as he boarded the _Axalon_. Then that ‘bot vanished again, as if a steel curtain had been drawn across her face plate.

“Rodimus,” she said with pain in her voice. “I want to tell you something.”

\-----

“I won’t countenance this effrontery. What I do, I do for the sake of Cybertron itself – for the sake of you all! None of you have the right to interfere with my divine duty!”

Grimlock reached over and slapped Vector Prime across the face.

“Hmm,” the Dinobot made a quizzical face. “Me not been struck by lightning, or otherwise hurt by fury of living god,” he said roughly. “So you shut up and only talk when we say so, okay?”

“Grimlock,” Optimus said sternly.

He turned to the ancient Transformer. “We took you at your word and hunted down the Planet Keys,” he said, getting right to the point. “My troops risked their lives to obtain the artefacts. Some of them,” he nodded at Nightbeat, “may lose their lives as a result.”

“Primus will bless them,” Vector Prime said. “But that is a concern for another time, right now I must…”

“You!” Optimus interrupted. His voice was thunderous, and it rattled Nightbeat’s sensors. The Autobot leader rarely raised his volume to such levels. “You lied. You provided Megatron with the map showing the location of the Keys. You failed to mention there would be Decepticons on each of the worlds visited – some of whom were in possession of the Keys, and would fight to retain them!”

He leaned across the table, his anger mounting. “You claimed to be the last of the 13, which doesn’t account for the being Ultra Magnus met on Earth. You gave no information about the nature of each world – data that could have saved lives and lessened injuries!

“Are we _pawns_ to you, Vector Prime? Playthings, toys, game pieces to be shuffled around in the dark?”

The Transformer’s face was dark. “No, you are not,” he said solemnly. “But the ways of Primus are not for his children to know. Your obedience, your co-operation… that is what is needed, not your infernal questioning! What I do, I do for us all!”

“That’s not good enough anymore,” Optimus snapped. He pulled out a data pad and stabbed a button on its surface. “Not after finding _this_.”

A hologram flickered to life. Fine green lines sketched, in three dimensions, a segment of the planet that had been torn apart by the singularity. Nightbeat recognised the Manganese Mountains. One had been pulled from the surface, leaving behind the entrance to a long, sloping tunnel.

“Oh no,” Vector Prime mumbled.

“This tunnel,” Optimus continued, “goes right into the very core of the planet. Astroscope, Sparkplug, Overrun and I followed it to an immense chamber, sealed by a thick door.” He toggled the controls of the data pad again, and the hologram changed – showing an enormous door marked with a strange, yet familiar, glyph.

“On that door was a symbol, Vector Prime. The top half of that symbol matched the Autobot mark, the bottom the Deception symbol.”

Silverstreak blanched. Nightbeat knew of his hatred for the Decepticons – knew that he was the sole survivor of the massacre at Nova Cronum. The thought there could be any common ground between the two factions likely sickened him.

“That’s impossible,” the gunner said. “It’s like I said on Speedia – there _were_ no Decepticons until Megatron rose to power! Their political views, their social structure, their symbol… _none of it existed_ before Megatron!”

“Precisely,” Optimus said. “And yet we find this door, buried deep beneath the surface of Cybertron. We find three planets swarming with Decepticons – if not in name, then by symbol.” He glared at Vector Prime. “If you are ancient, if you are one of the original Transformers, if you served Primus itself, then you would have known all this. I _know_ that you know all of this. Why, then, keep it from us? _Why_?”

Vector Prime was silent. “Need an answer, stopwatch,” Grimlock growled, rubbing his knuckles so hard they threw sparks. “Need an answer right now.”

“Your lord Primus…”

“We need an answer,” Nightbeat said suddenly, “ _without_ all the false religious imagery.”

Vector Prime looked up in shock.

Nightbeat was playing a hunch. Throughout the entire conversation, his processor had been running in its usual manner. One half listed to Optimus, the other compared what he said with the results of the missions. It had started to match up, but not in the sense Nightbeat had expected. The only way all the pieces fit properly was if…

“Primus is no god,” he said resolutely. “And we’re not divine creations. The only thing that separates us from your bog-standard assembly-line robot is a Spark – that little bit of soul-stuff that gives us individuality. It’s what makes us less robots and more living metallic beings – and why we revert to ordinary steel when we die. So I’m betting the only thing that separates Primus from an assembly line is the same damn thing.”

He smiled, sardonically, at Vector Prime. He could be wrong – completely and utterly. He’d been wrong on Gigalonia, several times, and his friends had almost been massacred because of his errors. This was just as big a gamble… if he’d pushed too hard, they might never get the answers they needed.

“Very well, blasphemer,” Vector Prime said. His spoke with utter resignation, with defeat. “I can see I will have no more co-operation from you fools until you hear that of which you are unworthy – the tales you were never permitted to know.”

He sat back in his borrowed chair. “This is the story of the Transformers,” he said. His voice had completely changed – it had lost its timbre, its preaching quality. “The _real_ story. Shorn of its mystical trappings, it is a tale of evolution – of one being becoming many. It is also a tale of genetics, and of betrayal.”

\-----

“So what do you want to tell me?”

Whatever it was, Rodimus knew they could sort it out. He and Arcee had been through so much already – the siege of Iacon, the war on Earth, the Unicron Battles – that a couple of missions to backwater worlds weren’t going to damage their relationship. Sure, she’d spent a lot of her life afraid of Thundercracker, and being trapped on a mission with him wouldn’t have been the most pleasant of experiences, but she was _back_ now! They could use the Planet Keys, save Cybertron and get on with their life together.

He flashed her a wide, confident grin. Arcee smiled back weakly. “I’m not really sure how to tell you about this, Rodimus. You’re going…” her voice faltered. “You’re going to tell me it makes no sense. But I have to tell _someone_ – and you and I, we’ve always been so close. If anyone will understand, it’s you. Right?”

“Of course!” Rodimus said, a little louder than he’d planned. _This_ was more like it. Just the two of them, sharing their innermost feelings and secrets, like it had always been. She’d just been moody back at the Stellar Galleries – concerned about Vector Prime and what was going on with him. This was the _real_ Arcee.

“Rodimus… I…”

A deafening sonic boom drowned her words. It shattered windows around them and loosed a hail of broken glass from the Tower of Pion. It fell on them and bounced off their metal bodies. Rodimus threw his hands over his audio receptors, trying to stop them from blowing out. Arcee, meanwhile, stared over his shoulder with wide optics.

“Damn it, Thundercracker!” Rodimus yelled as the noise died down. “Why can’t he…”

“ _Not_ Thundercracker,” Arcee interrupted. She pointed at the sky.

Rodimus followed her finger and saw a space ship, streaking through a hail of artillery fire. It was a deep, crimson colour, shaped like a cluster of three teardrops. There was no visible cockpit or forward window, nor could Rodimus see a propulsion system. The auto-guns were trying to nail the sucker, but it was too fast and had avoided all the shots.

 _No_ , Rodimus corrected himself. _Not all of them_. The “sonic boom” had actually been an explosion, going off right over their heads. One round had punctured the smooth hull and, from the looks of things, dealt some serious damage. As they watched, the ship dropped speed and altitude, heading on a downward course toward…

“The Galleries!” Rodimus cried. He and Arcee transformed in unison and sped back toward their friends, as fast as they could go. Traffic was, blessedly, far lighter in the outbound lanes and they made quick time, snatching glances through their scanners at the thick trail of smoke left by the ship. They were still a klick away from the Galleries when they felt the ship crash-land, the impact vibrating through the streets of Iacon.

When they came to the galleries they slammed on their brakes, leaving skid marks metres long. Transforming, they caught sight of the rest of the Autobots who were, mercifully, unharmed. Thundercracker and Snarl had already made their way across to the ship.

On closer inspection, Rodimus could see rifling marks along the tapered ends of the ship’s “teardrops”, almost like it had been fired out of a large cannon, rather than having been launched conventionally. “Something’s familiar,” he said softly.

They heard a howl, then the sound of a blaster firing twice. Snarl and Thundercracker fell, their bodies wreathed with crimson energy. Neither was offline but both were in agony, their limbs jerking slowly and spastically. The shots had been fired through a portal in the side of the alien vessel – a portal that had not existed a second before.

From out the portal stepped a figure Rodimus knew well. He recognised the long feminine legs, the pink and white chrome of the chassis, the proud golden face and the Prime-like helmet with its twin antennae. What he did not recognise was the weapon the fembot held – a wide, flat twin-barrelled gun. She’d not had that on Speedia.

“Autobots!” Override yelled. “Give me back my Force Chip… or _die_!”


	2. Chapter 2

“The problem with your religion, your _Covenant of Primus_ , is not accuracy. Rather, it is interpretation… and omission.”

From his seat in the Autobot elite’s high-security meeting room, Nightbeat listened to Vector Prime. Before, the ancient Transformer had spoken with the voice of an evangelist preacher. Now he spoke in the calmer, more measured tones one would expect of a teacher. The fervour was gone.

“The High Council based its creation story around Primus and Unicron. One, they told you, was a Lord of Light and a being of pure goodness while the other was a dark, malevolent creature… a Chaos Bringer. You learned that they battled, both in the real world and the ‘astral plane’ and, in order to end the conflict, Primus tricked Unicron into materialising in a barren lump of rock.

“That snare, you were told, held only until Unicron learned to reshape his prison, taking on the modes of monster planet and giant robot. Primus, it was taught, took on the form of Cybertron as well as a metallic humanoid mode that aped his astral form. From the perspective of dogma, those definitions are reasonable.”

“But from a scientific viewpoint,” Nightbeat said, feeling out the situation, “those definitions are ill-fitting.”

He’s figured out what role Optimus wanted him to play in the discussion. He was there to _interrogate_ Vector Prime, as he’d done with countless Decepticon prisoners over the vorns. This interrogation, however, would require a little finesse and subtlety, as well as very keen audio receptors. The old guy had lied to them before… it was up to Nightbeat to determine if the Autobots could trust their “ally”.

“Your insight is acute, young one,” Vector Prime smiled. His earlier anger – naming the detective a blasphemer, reluctantly bowing to the demands of the gathered Autobots – had evaporated. It was almost as if he was glad to be telling the truth … like a great weight had been lifted from his chassis.

He took a breath. “Our universe was created in an enormous celestial explosion. It rocketed matter and energy across the fledgling cosmos, substances that eventually grouped into solar systems. Whether this explosion was random, or the carefully planned pyrotechnics of a divine being, is not for me to say. Such things remain matters of faith or speculation, depending on one’s opinion.

“What I _can_ say is twin forces were birthed from that explosion. Neither matter nor energy, yet somehow both, they were responsible for the care taking of the infant universe. One was an influence of genesis, of creation. The other was concerned with entropy – with the destruction of that which was old or outmoded.”

“Dark matter,” Optimus Prime said. “The unseen forces that hold the universe together, according to the scientists of many worlds.”

“Though in direct opposition with one another, neither of these forces was pure,” Vector Prime continued. “As you know, energy cannot be created or destroyed, merely changed. In the act of creation, the genesis force destroyed the former shape of an entity. In the act of destruction, the entropy force changed its prey into raw material, facilitating new creation. Each force had elements of its opposing twin, and was tainted by the other.

“Things changed when the entropy developed sentience and, in doing so, came to consume more than was intended. Eventually, it sought to wipe out all life. Genesis – which had also evolved past its station – attempted to replace that which had been lost… only to see it be wiped out also. The twin forces developed that purest of emotions – _hatred_ toward one another.

“As formless energy, they could do naught to harm the other and so used their innate abilities to fashion material forms for themselves. The genesis force wrapped itself in dense armour, complete with mighty engines to move it when it was shaped as a planet. Entropy, meanwhile, cloaked itself in jagged materials from its unending consumption.”

“They became Primus and Unicron,” Optimus Prime interrupted, “as we know them.”

“Precisely,” Vector Prime confirmed. “As you can see, your religious beliefs have a basis in the purest science. The ‘Big Bang’, dark matter, evolution and the development of sentience, thermodynamic laws… when viewed through another’s optics, these principles seem mystical and, therefore, like the work of gods.”

\-----

Arcee drew her Energon bow and levelled it at Override. The former ruler of Speedia returned the favour, centring the sights of her twin-barrelled weapon on the Autobot valkyrie. Rodimus stepped between them, placing himself in harm’s way for the second time in less than a cycle.

 _I’ve gotta stop doing this_ , he thought. _Sooner or later, it’s going to get someone killed. Probably me._

“Welcome to Cybertron, Override,” he said in smooth, friendly tones. He knew how fast the fembot could go – and if she wanted to attack, few of the gathered Autobots would be quick enough to defend themselves. Tact was needed. “I can’t say I expected you’d ever come here, but it’s good to…”

“Stuff the pleasantries, Rodimus,” Override snapped vehemently. “The time has come for you to return my Force Chip. You’ve had it long enough for your needs, and I don’t have the time to race Blur again. Simply give me the device, and I’ll spare all your lives.”

She waved her weapon at him. It looked like someone had carved the top inch, lengthwise, off the top of an engine and bolted two carbines to it. It even had thin red spoilers attached to its surface. Rodimus knew the gun was no joke – Thundercracker and Snarl were still writhing nearby – but he couldn’t suppress a smirk.

Override was not impressed by his reaction. “I _mean_ it, Rodimus!” she threatened. “On Speedia, you challenged me for the Planet Key as per the rules of my culture. Well, now I’m here on your world, using the local method to get what I want… the method of _violence_.”

She pulled the trigger, and two scarlet beams of energy lanced toward Rodimus. The young cavalier leapt nimbly around them, then heard a cry of pain. The bolts had instead struck Landfill. The giant howled, his body seizing and jerking in place, then split into his component Transformers. Wedge, Grimlock, Heavy Load and Hightower crashed to the ground, still twitching.

Having watched three of their friends fall, the rest of the Autobots lost patience. Arcee, Swoop and Swerve attacked – even Downshift, Rodimus noted with dismay, joined in. He knew the engineer had never trusted the leader of Speedia, but he’d hoped Downshift would have kept a cool cranial casing and been prepared to at least speak with her.

Only Blur, the super-fast data courier, held back. Rodimus knew that, in winning the race for the Planet Key, his blue-armoured best friend had lost his Spark to the beauteous Override. “We’vegottastopthisbutIdon’tknowwhotograb,” Blur wailed. “It’scrazy!”

“Crazy, and doesn’t make any sense besides,” Rodimus agreed. “We’ve been back on Cybertron, what? Two, three cycles at most? Even if you set your watch by Override’s accelerated processor, that’s nowhere near enough time to save the universe!

“Then there’s the small matter of, oh, _you_ being the new king of Speedia and all that. Wouldn’t this be considered treason, stealing the Planet Key that is now yours by right of racing victory? Isn’t it a massive no-no in her culture? What is she thinking? Is she even thinking?

“And where the heck did someone from Speedia get a _space ship_?”

He cast an optic around the battlefield – an place that, seconds ago, was just the plaza outside Iacon’s Stellar Galleries. The members of the Gigalonian Build Team were still down, but Override’s first victims had started to stir. Thundercracker crawled sluggishly across the metallic ground, trying to reach his wing sword. He moved with agonising slowness – even the grimace on his face was forming at a glacial rate.

“It’sadeceleratorlaser,” Blur said. “Sheshootsyouandyougodown, allyoursystemsdragginglikeyourhead’sbeingdefragged.”

A decelerator laser – banned technology on Cybertron, but perhaps your best weapon on the high-octane world called Speedia. Usually, decelerator lasers only slowed down a target’s cerebral functions, making it difficult for them to think or react in the heat of battle. Override’s gun went one step further – it impaired neural messages to the hydraulics and the joints, turning Transformers into really, _really_ bad mimes.

“That’d sure be handy in a race,” Rodimus quipped.

“Idon’thinkshe’sracinganymore,” Blur replied.

“No, she’s not,” the cavalier agreed. “Let’s go find out why, before she puts every Autobot on Cybertron into a long, slow stasis lock.”

They transformed into their vehicle modes and drove toward the worst of the fighting, passing by Thundercracker as he crawled, tortoise-like, to his weapon.

\-----

Silence fell over the room. Optimus looked thoughtful, while Grimlock seemed a little stumped. Nightbeat watched Silverstreak’s face plate carefully, wondering when the gunner would reach the same conclusion at which he had arrived several minutes ago.

“If Primus was creation energy,” Silverstreak murmured, “and our Sparks are fragments of Primus itself, then _our Sparks_ are creation energy.” He drummed his fingers on the steel table for a moment. “And if Primus was tainted by Unicron’s destructive influence, then so is every Transformer… which is why some of us ‘grow up’ to kill and destroy, rather than defend and create.”

Again, Vector Prime smiled. “From what I know of you, Silverstreak, this question has haunted much of your existence. Now, you have answered it correctly. The potential to create is within every Transformer – as is the potential to destroy.

“In some beings,” he pointed to Optimus Prime, “creation wins out. In others,” he gestured to Grimlock, “the urges are balanced and lead to a savage, yet noble mentality.”

“Savage noble – that me all over,” Grimlock chuckled.

“In beings such as Megatron,” his face darkened, “the urge toward the dark is very strong, and manifests as a desire to rule. It is another form of consumption – of taking everything around and clutching it to oneself, all for one’s own benefit.”

Optimus nodded. “Now I understand why there were Decepticons – or variations thereof – on every planet we visited. Though each planet had its own unique culture and history, its Transformers still had those primal urges hard-wired into their very Sparks.”

“Some planets,” Grimlock added, “would help push Transformer to one side or other. Animatros like that… place was tailor-made for savagery and bestiality.”

“And on Gigalonia,” Nightbeat offered, “the ‘Flyers’ were so much smaller than the ‘Grounders’ that they would never have been able to consume in the way their Sparks demanded… instead, they were seized by a maddening desire to build weaponry and new bodies so they _could_ follow their instincts.”

Vector Prime affirmed all of their examples. “Think now of the Mini-cons,” he said. “Though they lived on Cybertron for eons, you know them now to be creations of Unicron. Their smaller size gives away their origin, when you know the truth. So possessed is the Chaos Bringer by the need to consume, it cannot bear to part with the fruits of its unholy labours. It spends the smallest amount of matter possible to generate its subjects, and hence the Mini-cons are diminutive.

“Consider, also, the effect a Mini-con has when bonded with a Transformer. Their Sparks are weighted more toward destruction. It is through your influence that many strive for peace, but that is by-the-by. Scientifically, Mini-cons unlock _destructive potential_ in a race of beings birthed from the very force of creation – weapons systems, greater strength, hidden abilities. They bring out your personal talents for entropy.”

Again, the room fell silent – even Nightbeat was taken aback. Though he’d never really believed in the _Covenant of Primus_ , he had a healthy respect for it. He’d seen enough bizarre things in his career as a detective that gods and devils seemed plausible. Hearing such a blunt explanation for mythical entities was sobering, to say the least.

“Vector Prime,” Optimus said, drawing the Autobots out of their personal reveries. “What you have told us makes perfect sense… to a point. I can accept that the differences between Autobots and Decepticons are genetic manifest politically, but are in truth part of our very genetics.

“That does not, however, explain the uniform use of the Decepticon symbol on four worlds, each light-years from the other. Nor does it answer my earlier question about the door under the mountain – the door marked with a glyph that is both Autobot and Decepticon symbol.”

“That is because you lack context, Optimus Prime,” the ancient Transformer said. “Applied properly, the information you already have at hand is sufficient to explain those queries. Proper application, however, requires context. That is what has been omitted from your religion, and can be provided only by learning of the Thirteen.”

\-----

He wasn’t as fast as his brother, but Swerve was no slouch in the “turn and burn” department. His vehicular mode was identical to Blur’s, and just as capable when facing down a normal, if speedy, opponent.

The trouble was, Override was no normal opponent.

After shooting down the Build Team, the rogue femme had transformed – quicker than the optic could follow – and sped off around the edge of the Stellar Galleries. Swerve had been the first to give chase, rocketing after her as fast as his wheels could spin. Thinking ahead, he’d teamed up with the Dinobot, Swoop, to get some aerial spotting of his target. Swerve knew only too well how his mind wandered, and so wanted someone to keep him focused on the task at hand.

“Any sign of her?” he called into his communicator.

“Zip, nada and bupkis, little buddy,” Swoop replied. “I can’t see slag… oh wait, hang on a nano-klick.”

There was concern in his friend’s voice. “What’s the matter?”

“I’ll be damned,” Swoop said absently. “She’s done a full three-sixty around the galleries already. That’d build up a lotta momentum… cripes, Swerve, _look out_!”

The warning came too late. Swerve felt a sickening impact in his heavily armoured rear and hurtled to one side, fighting with his ruined steering for control. Override had slammed into him with the power of a cruise missile, just by lapping him at incredible velocity. He’d suffered no permanent damage, but couldn’t drive any more.

Swerve rolled to a stop by the wall of the Galleries, bumping slightly into the thick steel. “Dammit!” he cried. “Even when I think ahead, I get hit up the skid plate.”

\-----

“When I told you that I was the last of the first… the sole survivor of Primus’ original 13 creations… I _lied_ ,” Vector Prime said quietly.

“Oh, I’m so shocked,” Silverstreak deadpanned. “Say it ain’t so!”

The ancient Transformer ignored him. “Having been betrayed by Megatron, I felt it prudent to keep certain pieces of information to myself until I knew if you Autobots could be trusted. The idea of Transformer fighting Transformer _sickens_ me, go against every hope Primus held for its creations. You are tainted by the entropy of Unicron – all of you! – and that is hard for me to accept.”

“The devil inside, the devil inside,” Nightbeat sang, “every single one of us, the devil inside.”

“Me like that song,” Grimlock quipped. “Makes me want to munch metal.”

“And you chose not to keep your secrets once you knew we could be trusted,” Optimus said loudly, “because…?”

“Ironic as it may sound, there never seemed to be time,” Vector Prime said. “And, when the Autobots returned largely unmolested from Speedia and Gigalonia, there seemed to be no need to reveal unnecessary information.”

Nightbeat bristled. _Largely unmolested_. Checkpoint had three massive holes in his chest and a Spark that was dangerously close to flickering out forever, all because of Gigalonia. What he didn’t know _had_ hurt him, just as these omissions had hurt the chances of every Autobot in the field.

Suddenly, he hated Vector Prime.

“Through your travels, Autobots, you have met the other survivors of the 13,” Vector Prime said gravely. “Override of Speedia, Metroplex of Gigalonia, Flame Convoy of Animatros and Evac of Earth. They are my brothers and my sister.”

“Three-headed nutcase is one of the originals?” Grimlock exclaimed. “Hurh… shows the design specs got better with time.” He patted his chest proudly.

“Your religions holds Primus created a crew of 13 Transformers to optimise its defences,” Vector Prime said. “That is only partly true. While seven were tasked with such duties, six had more important matters requiring our attention. Our charge was the operation of Cybertron itself – to make the pieces move in perfect synchronicity so Primus could best battle Unicron.

“A being of dark matter, Primus was not used to having a physical form, and so created mechanics for its precise operation. To accomplish it, five of us were given keys to unlock the giant robot’s innermost potential… artefacts you now know as Planet Keys.”

The room erupted into a frenzy of conversation. “But what does this have to do…” Optimus began to ask, before Vector Prime silenced him with a wave.

“Patience, young Prime – your answers are coming,” he said with slight irritation in his voice. He cleared his synthesiser. “Flame Convoy was so named because he was the blacksmith, the maker of weaponry and armaments. He was the means through which fire was conveyed from the heart of Cybertron and used to create Primus’ children.

“It was through that heat and his mighty hammer that the chassis of the 13 were forged, and his workshop was the Plasma Energy Chamber. To control the volatile forces within this chamber, Primus bequeathed to Flame Convoy the green key. Transformers exposed to the key become more primal and raw, full of unchecked energy, fire and passion. They become reforged by the desires of the key’s master.”

Grimlock spoke up. “That explain Animatros,” he growled. “Stupid three-heads thought himself a beast god – that make everyone else go native. Also explain symbol on key – it the claw of a beast.”

“No,” Vector Prime said. “The symbol on the key is not a claw. It is a steaming hot anvil, surrounded by jets of flame.”

“Oh,” Grimlock said quietly. “Still look like claw to me.”

The old robot leaned across the table. The Key from Speedia was sitting in the centre of the steel circle, its gilded edge gleaming in the light. He tapped it with a finger.

“Override was more than the sole female in the group – she was also the swiftest and most cunning. She received this red key, which controls gravity, inertia and has a limited effect on time itself. Once locked into its place, the key granted Primus’ massive form the ability to move and react with a speed far greater than its bulk would suggest.

“Transformers exposed to the key become euphoric for speed, addicted to it, and manifest the quickness to indulge in these feelings. The symbol on the key is not a speedometer but rather Cybertron itself, with a bolt of lightning to signify its rapid motion.”

Silverstreak nodded. “Makes sense, given what we saw on that world. Miles and miles of race tracks, hyper-fast ‘bots and ‘cons in nearly endless motion.” He chuckled. “Blur was still faster, mind you, than any of ‘em.”

“Metroplex was the mightiest of the original 13, a towering warrior with indescribable strength,” Vector Prime continued. “Though Flame Convoy forged the weapons, it was Metroplex’s job to fix them to various parts of the planet and ensure they worked in harmony with the rest of Primus’ living systems.

“The reward for his toil was the purple key,” he said, nodding to the item Nightbeat held. “It can alter or even sidestep the laws of physics. For Primus, the key – when in its place – made transformation from planet to robot possible, by circumventing natural law.

“Transformers exposed to the key can alter their size and their very physical natures to best suit their needs. They can be giants, Mini-Cons, gestalts or a mixture of all three. The symbol on the key is less a single gear than it is representation of all aspects of Primus working in harmony toward a single goal – universal harmony.”

Nightbeat said nothing. That was a far cry from what they’d found on Gigalonia… a planet more segregated than any other he’d visited. Only size and power mattered on that muddy, purple world. The Key’s effect had been divisive, not harmonious.

“Among the original 13 was one whose thirst for knowledge was unquenchable, whose desire to seek out the truth could not be blunted by any assault or dark god,” Vector Prime said. “His name was Evac, and he was our warrior-philosopher. Keenly intelligent and endlessly patient, to him was granted the blue key and, therefore, access to Cybertron’s vast data storage facility… the Underbase.”

Optimus was surprised. “I worked with the Underbase every cycle of my existence until I was appointed Prime,” he said. “I knew its pathways intimately, and I never found anything that would indicate it had existed since the birth of the planet itself.”

“You learned,” Vector Prime smiled, “only that which you were _permitted_ to learn. The Underbase contains vast amounts of data, but even that pales in comparison to its volume when the key is inserted. In truth, that database is the physical embodiment of all of Primus’ knowledge, and the Key granted its master an insight into creation itself.

“For Primus, the key is the only way of accessing the depths of its arcane and esoteric knowledge. Transformers exposed to the key experience a sense of “cosmic awareness” and communication abilities bordering on the telepathic. With the key, there is nothing on the span of a globe – not even a thought – that can escape the notice of an attentive mechanoid. The symbol on the key is not the sun rising over the Earth, but rather the dawning of knowledge over the steel plains of Cybertron.”

Optimus looked at the discs. The red key glowed with a strange light, while the purple key was dull, almost lifeless. “Then our course is clear. As soon as Ultra Magnus and the Earthforce arrive, each team will make its way into Cybertron to re-insert the Planet Keys. We must re-fire the Plasma Energy Chamber, unlock the Underbase and find ‘locks’ for the other two artefacts, as well.”

Grimlock grunted. “Me bet Predacon have some idea about this as well, him being Three-heads’ chief preacher. My team go find chamber, wait there for lizard-lips to show.” He smiled horribly. “Take back key, and take revenge as well. Good deal.”

The members of the meeting started to rise – everyone except Nightbeat.

“Wait a minute,” he said, “we’re still in the dark.”

The other Autobots turned to face him. Vector Prime’s stare was particularly harsh. The old Transformer had structured his story perfectly, leaving out key details while providing a rallying call to arms for his heroic friends. Had been yet another front, and the detective wasn’t going to fall for it. His friend had offered up his life for the Gigalonian Key, and Nightbeat was determined to have answers to all of his questions.

“You told us _six_ of the 13 had special duties, and only name-checked four,” Nightbeat said darkly. “Convenient, given the four you mentioned were those with the Planet Keys. What aren’t you telling us this time, Vector Prime? Who were the other two mechs in this picture – and what were their roles in all of this? And how did the Keys get scattered across the universe, anyway?”

Vector Prime sighed, an expression heavy with the weight of ages. His willingness to co-operate, Nightbeat realised, had been a sham – once again, he’d been playing the Autobots for fools, winding them up and showing them a direction that suited his ends. He had no intention of revealing the whole truth, only as much as would guarantee their participation. Nightbeat had called him on his deception, and he was not happy.

“Each of your questions is linked to the other,” Vector Prime said, slumping back into his chair. “The remaining two held the power of life and death over the rest. To them fell roles similar to that of Primus and Unicron – to be genesis and entropy, in microcosm. Those two Transformers were myself… and the beast known as Nemesis Prime.”

\-----

They passed Swerve – who was stuck against a wall – and Swoop – who had seemingly been shot out of the sky. Downshift wasn’t much further ahead. The engineer still gripped his Energon weapon in his cramping right hand. He’d probably tried to take Override on face-to-face. It was the same sort of courage he’d displayed on Speedia – courage that had left him in a mobile CR chamber – but it was useless on Cybertron.

Rodimus and his friends were all so tired, so depleted from their harrowing missions, that they were easy prey. Especially for a fighting mad, super-fast, single-minded femme wielding a bad attitude and a banned piece of ordnance.

There was no sign of Arcee, which worried Rodimus. Whatever was bothering his favourite femme may have lessened her fighting prowess or something, and she might have been caught off-guard. Decelerator lasers weren’t fatal but were damn painful, and Rodimus hoped to spare Arcee any further anguish or discomfort. _If only she’d been able to finish what she was saying back at the Tower of Pion._

He and Blur transformed. A second later, they heard the familiar _click_ of a weapon, right behind their heads. “Don’t turn around,” Override said coldly. “I don’t want to hurt you… either of you… but I will if you leave me no other choice.”

“It’s funny,” Rodimus said, trying to sound calmer than he felt, “finding other choices is what I’m all about. My choice, for example, would be to find out why the frell we’re chasing each other all over the planet rather than talking like civilised mechs!”

Override sighed. “You have no idea of the mess you left on my world,” she said. “Our entire society was based around the Planet Key, my Force Chip… it guaranteed peace for everyone on Speedia. Autobots and Decepticons were happy to race for leadership of the planet. There was no need for war, for bitterness or indignation, because there was always another race and another chance to come out on top.

“No Key meant no way for a lesser ‘bot to step up and take control. Our democracy was missing its cornerstone, and so crumbled. Dirt Boss rallied the Decepticons and they took up arms, attacking the Pits and laying siege to Accel City. We Autobots had no choice but to fight back, to create weapons of our own. Now half the planet lies in ruins, as will the rest of Speedia unless you return the Planet Key to me _now_!”

Rodimus shook his head. “What I don’t understand is how this has gotten so bad, so fast. We’ve only had the blasted thing for a few cycles. That’s not enough time for the sort of devastation you’re talking about!”

“Umm,” Blur stammered. “Maybenotforbotswhomoveatnormalspeeds. Butforaplanetofsuper-fastTransformers, a coupleofcycleswouldfeellikeafewvorns.”

The cavalier winced. Instead of racing and expressing their speed through motion, the ‘bots of Speedia had started a hyper-fast war. Entire campaigns would have begun and ended in minutes, while sieges lasting just a cycle would feel like vorns of trench warfare. By taking the Key to save their own world, and the universe, Rodimus and the Autobots had doomed another planet. He felt so stupid, so pig-headed and short sighted, that he almost _wanted_ Override to shoot him.

“Hey, wrench!” a voice called mockingly. The bittersweet sound floated over the streets of Iacon and down to them. Rodimus could almost fee Override tense at the insult.

He yelped as Override punched him in the head, sending him sprawling to the ground. Blur received the same harsh treatment and landed, face down, next to him. Both Autobots rolled on to their backs to see what was going on.

Arcee had emerged from the shadows, crouched low and at an odd angle to Override. She had discarded her bow and, in its place, carried a short staff with vibro-blades fixed to either end. Her other fist was full of tiny, nasty-looking blades of various shapes and sizes, ready to be either thrown or used close-up for maximum damage. The femme was a expert in the arts of _crystalocution_ and _tekkaido_ , and it showed.

“You do fine with the boys,” Arcee hissed, every syllable as sharp as her blades. “How about some _real_ competition?”


	3. Chapter 3

Vector Prime waved his hand across the table. Tiny lights winked into existence, then swirled around in dizzying patterns. Eventually they coalesced into two images. One was unmistakably the ancient Transformer himself – though he looked younger, less tarnished, in the miniature picture. The other being was more of a mystery.

In some ways, it looked like Optimus Prime – they shared similar chassis designs and their mouth-plated heads were near identical. The being in the image was less stocky than the Autobot leader, however, and boasted a trim, tapered design. Its torso was made up of a grey grille, set below two rectangular, grey and black screens – unlike Optimus, whose chest was covered entirely by a grille.

The being’s square, blocky shoulders rose well above its head and seemed to have been outfitted with compact missile launchers. Optimus carried an ion rifle while the Transformer in the image hefted a red Energon sword in its hand – a blade very similar to that carried by Vector Prime. The biggest difference was in the colouring… the being in the image was black, so black its armour almost seemed to swallow the light around it.

“There were 13 original Transformers,” Vector Prime said softly. “But only six were unique. The remaining seven – designated Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Theta and Zeta – were little more than templates for the creation of an army. Like drones possessed of simple minds, they carried out the optimisation of Primus’ defences while we six directed their actions. They were, in the modern parlance, our slaves.”

Grimlock bristled. “You mean foundations of our civilisation were built on the backs of slaves?” He was furious. “Me old enough to remember Age of Internment – era when Cybertronians were slaves for five-faced off-worlders. It why I joined army in first place, how I came to know Megatron. And you say our ‘god’ condoned such things?”

Vector Prime shook pleaded for silence. “It was a different time, Grimlock – an age when survival was all that mattered. Please, listen to the rest of my tale and perhaps it will change your opinion somewhat.”

The Dinobot snorted. “Kinda doubt that, old man.”

“Flame Convoy forged each… line… of robots in the Plasma Energy Chamber,” the old robot said. “He brought them to me for the granting of personality, sentience and limited individuality. To accomplish this, I activated Vector Sigma – the supercomputer at the heart of Cybertron – with my Planet Key. Known to us as the Master Key, it came into existence only when the other four artefacts were locked into their proper stations.

“Vector Sigma _is_ Primus, in the purest sense. It is his Spark chamber, and the source of all Transformer life – even to this day. All our kind are hard-wired into the golden, spherical computer, and all our experiences flow through it and into the Underbase for collation and collection. We are Primus’ avatars in this universe.

“When the robots fell in the battles with Unicron… and they did, inevitably, by the thousands… their Sparks were freed by my opposite number, Nemesis Prime. It was his task to roam the battlefields and collect the Sparks of the slain with a device he kept inside his chest. An orb with twin handles, it was called…”

“The Matrix!” Optimus said, alarmed. “The Matrix of Leadership!”

“In a sense,” Vector Prime nodded, “but not quite. I shall come to that in a moment but, for now, imagine this ebon warrior striding through mounds of the dead and dying. He absolved them of their cowardice, failure and sins as he absorbed their Sparks into the Matrix. When the device had filled, when his chest was overflowing with life-energy, he returned to a pit, directly below Vector Sigma, and deposited his burden into it. We called that deep, bottomless void the Well of All Sparks.

“Do you see the synchronicity? I was like Primus, taking the remains of the dead and forging new life from them. Nemesis Prime functioned as did Unicron – destroying remains to allow new creation to come forth.

“The door you found under the Manganese Mountains, Optimus Prime, is the entrance to the Vector Sigma Chamber, and also to the Well of All Sparks. They symbol on the door is a fusion of my face and Nemesis Prime’s countenance, symbolising the life, death and rebirth that is at the very heart of the Primus/Unicron relationship.”

“Like a yin-yang on Earth,” Nightbeat affirmed. “There’s just one problem with this whole idea – if performing the role of entropy drove Unicron to behave badly, wasn’t Primus risking a repeat performance from this Nemesis Prime character?”

Vector Prime nodded sadly. “Woe betide our ignorance,” he said, “for it led to the end.”

\-----

“Run away, little girl. _Now_. You have no clue who you’re dealing with.”

Override’s warning hissed through golden teeth and over the silvery metal of Cybertron, as sharp and as wounding as any weapon.

“I’m dealing with a spoiled racing princess,” Arcee replied venomously, “who misses her favourite toy and can’t live without it. Poor protoform.

“And, for the record? You have no idea who _you’re_ dealing with, either.”

Override transformed and Arcee flung her blades – Rodimus wasn’t quite sure which happened first. The former leader of Speedia hurtled toward the Autobot valkyrie but then pulled up short, one of her wheels exploding noisily. Arcee had not aimed the throwing blades at where Override was but, rather, where she _would be_. The larger femme transformed again, only to take a punch to the head.

Arcee didn’t let up. She swung blow after blow, alternating jabs with savage backhands and always staying inside Override’s reach. Finally, she dropped to one knee and swung the staff up into her opponent’s jaw. Override staggered back a step.

A blue streak cleaved the air between the femmes, snatching the weapon from Arcee’s hands. It stopped a foot away and snapped the staff across its suddenly visible knee. Blur was taking matters into his own hands.

“Stopitbothofyou!” he cried. “Icaretoomuchaboutbothofyoutositbackandwatchthis! Getittogetherandstopfighting – weneedtotalkthisthrough, allright?”

Arcee paused, but Override aimed her gun at Blur. “I’m sorry, quick one,” she said heavily. She fired twice, sending four bolts of scarlet energy at the hyper-fast Autobot. He transformed and took off, leaving a trail of residual images behind him. As Rodimus watched, the beams _changed direction_ and curved after the retreating Autobot. Fast as he was, Blur could not outrun the speed of light and the energy lances caught up to him within seconds, washing him with red fire. He lost acceleration almost instantly and stopped dead, as if he’d stalled out.

Override’s face was a mask of pain. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, “but there is no other way. Too many lives depend on my actions. I must be decisive.”

“No!” Rodimus yelled. “Override, this is stupid – we’re not your enemies, and you know that! We’ll return the Key, just as we promised, but we need a little more time to…”

“Forget it, Rodimus,” Arcee snapped. She lifted her Energon bow from the ground and swung it toward Override. “She’s out of her mind – crazed with power lust. Just like Blender back on Gigalonia… she’ll hurt anyone and anything in her way, risk the whole universe, to get what she wants.”

Her arm flashed back and forth, loosing a volley of solid-light arrows. Override dodged the first two but bore the brunt of the attack, catching three shafts in the chest and one in the shoulder. She dropped to one knee and moaned in pain.

Arcee tossed the bow to one side, drew a spike-knuckled blade from a pouch on her thigh and advanced on her fallen foe.

\-----

“Entropy attracts entropy. It is a fundamental truth of existence, one that is writ large in the history of the Transformers. Each of us has some of that entropic influence within our Spark… some more than others. Given his task, his role in life, Nemesis Prime tended more toward the dark than the rest of us. As a result, he was the most receptive to the telepathic entreaties of the Chaos Bringer.”

Vector Prime’s voice had grown very, very cold. Nightbeat fancied he could see frost in the air around the meeting table. The mood in the room was frosty also.

“Only cycles before the final battle,” Vector Prime said heavily, “Primus had bequeathed smaller partners to myself and to Nemesis Prime. I have little doubt they inspired Unicron’s Mini-con design. In any event, Safeguard bonded to me as Dead End bonded to my dark twin, and we ran to the fore of the latest confrontation.”

Grimlock, who usually ran so hot, was chillingly calm. No doubt he was still angered by the revelations of early Cybertronian slavery. 

“We came to realise our defences had been sabotaged, ruined from within, by a traitor. Nemesis Prime had sapped the life out of the drones. He had used the Matrix to suck out their Sparks even as they rose to attack. He tried to do the same to us but we overpowered him. Lacking use of its conventional defences, Primus was forced to assume its robot mode and tackle Unicron directly. During their long, brutal confrontation, the infant life we sought to protect was completely, irrevocably, wiped out.”

Optimus Prime was deathly quiet. Nightbeat thought he was concerned about the origins of the artefact within his chest… maybe fearful it could be used so heinously again.

“Though Unicron was defeated, cast into a black hole along with Nemesis Prime and Dead End, we had lost in the only way that truly mattered. By goading Primus into acting directly, rather than through its avatars, Unicron had achieved everything it dreamed of. Life beyond the plains of Cybertron had ceased to exist.”

Silverstreak worried Nightbeat most of all. The gunner had finally learned the answer to his deepest-held question – the genesis of the Decepticon way of life. It seemed to have granted him no peace, and he grew more agitated with every insight into the past.

“Sickened by its failure… and by the failure of its chosen people… Primus imposed the harshest of penances. It resumed its planetary form and vowed never to tread the cosmos as a robot again. It would remain silent, deactivated, as a metallic globe and watch the slow rebirth of life around it.

“Override and the others were cast out, still clutching their Planet Keys, and ordered never to return. Taking drones with them, they settled on distant worlds and, as we now know, formed their own societies based around the influences of the artefacts.

“Primus retained but one drone. The sole survivor of the Alpha class, called A-3, was the first of the ‘true’ Transformer race. In his chest did Primus implant a twin-handled orb – a new Matrix. Without the Planet Keys, the devices used to create Transformers no longer operated – and so Primus gave this new Matrix the abilities of both Vector Sigma and the Well of All Sparks. It creates life in a Spark-less body and stores the memories and experiences of the dead. _That_ is the orb you carry within you, Optimus Prime.”

He fell silent.

“And you?” Optimus asked, empathetic despite the deceptions and half-truths. “What became of you in all this?”

“Cruellest of all was my fate,” he said wearily. “I was sentenced to wander time and space, ever on the look-out for Unicron’s return. My duty was to stop the dark creature, should it return… and I failed.”

\-----

_I just know I’m gonna regret this in the morning_.

For the third time, Rodimus shoved his way into the middle of someone else’s fight. Tow-Line would have accused him of thinking with his fuel pump and not his processor, and maybe the old journalist would have been right. A lot of the time, Rodimus acted without thinking… but sometimes, just sometimes, there was no thinking to be done.

“Arcee, you don’t want to do this,” he said. She was looking past him, glaring at the injured Override, and clutching the spike-knuckled knife very tightly. “I mean, I know you’re not going to kill her – you’d never do something like that – but do you really need to eviscerate her just to keep her still?”

“Whatever it takes,” Arcee growled, shouldering her way past him.

Rodimus tutted and played his trump card. “Sounds a little too much like Decepticon thinking there, femme.”

Arcee froze. She turned to face him, and her expression was darker than any Rodimus had seen before. Her face plate was flushed and red, and it seemed like steam was coming out of her audio canals. He felt a low-yield nuclear device explode on his cheek and, a second later, realised Arcee _had slapped him across the face_.

He reached up and gingerly touched the fresh dent. “What was _that_ for?”

The fembot never had a chance to answer. Taking advantage of the distraction, Override crash-tackled Arcee and knocked them both to the ground. Rodimus saw she’d pulled the arrows from her body and was wielding two of them like nightsticks, battering Arcee around the neck and upper body. The Autobot tried to fend off the blows with her forearms but too many made it through her defences. Her optics flickered and dimmed.

Rodimus drew his orange Energon rifle and sighted on Override’s exposed back. One clean shot would save Arcee, but likely kill Override in the process. The only guaranteed shot was a fatal one… there was no room to try anything fancy.

Could he do it? Override wasn’t evil, wasn’t even malicious, really. She was just frightened – terrified for her people, willing to do anything to save them. How different was that from the Autobot quest for the Planet Keys? From a certain point of view, they’d invaded three untouched civilisations, imposed their own moral code on proceedings and made off with sacred, worshipped objects. What right did they have?

The thought of the war on Speedia… of hundreds of ‘bots suffering endless hours of rapid-fire combat… made Rodimus sick to his sump. He’d tried to achieve his mission in a way that would keep everyone safe and, instead, he’d caused the sort of war he’d tried to avoid. Shooting Override would only compound his sins.

He hesitated, the weapon shaking in his hand. Arcee was fading fast, her bodywork denting and warping under the crazed assault. Override was all but foaming at the mouth, telling Arcee she’d brought this on herself and demanding the Key’s return. Servomotors in Rodimus’ hand tensed, and his finger shivered over the trigger. One of the femmes was about to die, of that there was no question… but which one?

\-----

“By attacking the Chaos Bringer with conventional weaponry – worse, with its _own power_ through Mini-con augmentation – you Autobots created the black hole that now threatens to destroy everything,” Vector Prime snapped. “You attacked the ultimate destroyer with instruments of destruction. How foolish were you? You _fed_ his true power even as you laid waste to his physical form!

“One cannot destroy entropy… one can only re-create it, shape it into something new by filling its endless void with life.”

“You’re talking about the Matrix,” Optimus Prime said. “We should have used the Matrix against Unicron.”

“Indeed, though now it is too late,” Vector Prime said stiffly. “The only creative force powerful enough to close that entropic singularity – to change it into something else – is Primus. Despite its wishes and instructions, our creator must be reactivated… the Keys must be inserted into their rightful homes… the Plasma Energy Chamber must re-fire, the Underbase must be unlocked, and Vector Sigma must awaken.”

If the ancient Transformer expected a rousing, adventurous reaction to his words, he would have been disappointed. No one moved from the table.

Nightbeat knew it wasn’t the weight of the information that froze them to the spot but, rather, memories of past deceptions. Vector Prime had kept them in the dark not for any nefarious purpose, but simply to hide his own shame. He’d used religious imagery he knew was bunk, and led the Autobots around like marionettes by playing on centuries of conditioning and false learning. He was, in short, not the sort of guy you could count on.

“Even the accumulated wisdom of the Matrix can’t help me here,” Optimus said, turning to face the detective. “Of all of us, Nightbeat, you’re the one best suited to solving this riddle. This is the ultimate mystery – can we trust Vector Prime?”

Nightbeat had been thinking, comparing and analysing throughout the entire ‘lecture’. Each word had been treated like a piece of evidence, each paragraph like a crime scene, until the detective had an overall view of the case itself. It was a crime that dated back to their very genesis, and had propagated hundreds of thousands of crimes along the way.

He grinned ruefully. “No,” he said. “We can’t trust Vector Prime. Hell, I don’t even want to speak to him, after all this. But at the same time, we can’t ignore him… because he’s telling us the truth at last. As far as I can figure, anyway.”

Optimus nodded. “Each of you, form teams and make them ready to go into the planet. Nightbeat, speak to Downshift and see if you can conjure up a way to reactivate the purple key, now that Metroplex is dead. Grimlock, your group will act as a strike force and hunt down the Terrorcons – get that green key back.”

The Autobot leader reached up and, with both hands, pulled down his chest grille. Behind it sat the Matrix, glittering in the golden light with the life force of a hundred thousand Transformers. Optimus took the sacred object from his chest cavity, hefted it in his hands and looked at Vector Prime.

“You, Silverstreak and I,” he said, “are going to Vector Sigma. I want to speak with this ‘god’ of ours.”

\-----

The blast screamed through the air and detonated in the centre of Override’s back. She slumped down onto Arcee, dropping her makeshift weapons in the process.

Rodimus breathed a loud sigh of relief. In the end, the decision had been taken out of his hands – that was good, because he still didn’t know if he’d have fired. He chuckled slightly. Now he knew why he always rushed into things without thinking – too much consideration was crippling. He glanced over his shoulder to see who the shooter was.

There was no one there.

He looked up for any sign of an aerial attack, maybe even Silverstreak with his infamous sniper rifle. Nothing. Then he looked down… and into the optics of Thundercracker.

The ex-Decepticon was pulling himself along the ground with one hand, inch by agonising inch. A long trail of scratched, scorched metal showed his path – he must have dragged his chassis all the way from the downed spacecraft! Lubricant poured from every vent in his body, and steam rose from his midnight blue armour, his exertion and exhaustion obvious. One of his two shoulder-mounted guns was locked into firing mode, the other stabbed uselessly into the air, where it had fused in the middle of motion.

“By the primordial program,” Rodimus whispered, awestruck.

To his right, Arcee freed herself from under Override’s carcass. She threw the body to one side, a disgusted expression on her face, and ran lightly toward them.

“Hey, are you okay?” Rodimus greeted her with a wide grin. “I was worried that…”

She ran past him and over to Thundercracker. Dropping to one knee, she eased the ex-Decepticon back to his feet and slung one of his arms across her shoulder. “Lean on me,” she said softly. “And… thanks.”

Thundercracker grinned sardonically. “Ain’t missed a girl fight yet,” he slurred, still affected by the decelerator laser.

Gently, Arcee helped Thundercracker back in the direction of the Stellar Galleries. Rodimus watched them go, his rifle dangling uselessly in his right hand. There was a strange pressure in his chest, like someone was squeezing on his Spark, and a rush of unwelcome insight running through his processor.

“It’s okay, Arcee,” he said softly. “I’ve figured out what you wanted to tell me.”

\-----

Override was not dead, of course. Knowing that the power of the Keys was linked to the life force of their owners, Thundercracker had picked his shot carefully. Ever the assassin, he had snipped one of her main hydraulic fuel lines and paralysed her, rather than knocking her offline for good. His ability to act so professionally, even when half-slagged, only made Rodimus hate him more.

He watched Thundercracker out of the corner of his optics. The ex-Decepticon sat on the far side of the repair bay, fully operational, with both feet resting on an unoccupied recharging bed. Arcee stood a few metres to his side, and Rodimus was convinced he could see static electricity arcing across the gap.

“Done,” Red Alert announced.

Rodimus turned in time to see Override sit up stiffly. She looked quizzically at the faces around her. The Autobots she’d attacked were there, many of them nursing weapons and grudges. Ultra Magnus, Omega Supreme and the Earthforce had arrived – their help had been vital in repairing all of those affected by the decelerator laser. Finally, Optimus Prime and the others had returned from their secret meeting.

The expression on Silverstreak’s face told Rodimus much had been said, but little had been resolved. In any event, the Autobots were back together for the first time in mega-cycles and, despite his aching Spark, Rodimus felt positive and upbeat. He’d never doubted they’d be successful, but now he was one hundred per cent _certain_ they were going to save the universe.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Override said. “Why repair me, after all I’ve done?”

Optimus stepped forward and offered his hand. The lithe female warrior took it, gratefully but cautiously, and let the Autobot commander help her off the maintenance bench. “Your actions in pursuit of the Planet Key were no worse than ours,” he said soothingly. “And perhaps we were rash in taking the artefact the way we did. You have my word, Override, that we shall return it to you as soon as Cybertron’s survival is guaranteed… and that the Autobots will assist you in bringing peace to Speedia.

“I also want to offer you the chance to be a part of our mission, to help us use the Planet Key to unlock the full potential of Primus. Given your… unique knowledge of the situation, your assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

Rodimus had no idea what _that_ meant but, from the way she smiled, Override did. “I’ve been a fool, Optimus Prime,” she said, “while you have been most gracious. I understand what you’re saying, and what it entails. I’ll help you now, as quickly as I can, and then I’ll hold you to your promises.”

Optimus nodded. “Autobots… and ex-Decepticon,” he said. “Take a seat and get comfortable. There’s a lot I need to tell you, and our time grows short.”

Vector Prime stood up. “Optimus, no,” he said urgently. “The things you know…”

“… Are to be shared with my troops,” Optimus said firmly. “I would never ask them to take on a mission that I would refuse, and I would never deny them information that could possibly save their lives.” There was a hint of menace to his words – quite unlike the Prime that Rodimus knew – and it made the ancient Transformer shrink back.

“Now,” Optimus began. “It would seem what we know of our origins is true – but only from a certain point of view.”

\-----

Predacon leaned back in his chair, letting it all sink in. His processor – equal parts organic grey matter and delicate microcircuitry – was almost tumbling over itself with excitement. He thought of the Planet Key he had, locked away in his own little portion of subspace… the Planet Key his fellow Decepticons believed had been lost to the Autobots.

He grinned happily. He held, it seemed, even more power than he’d thought.

“I take it my little toy worked?” Insecticon said as he entered the small room. “Given the blissful smile on your face, I mean.”

The Terrorcon leader – and high priest of the True Path cult – stood up and stretched, letting his steel-and-bone spine pop back into place. “Magnificently,” Predacon crooned. “It worked magnificently. On several occasions, I could have sworn I was _in_ the room with Optimus Prime, rather than just listening from afar.”

Cycles earlier, Predacon and his loyal troops had claimed possession of the green Planet Key on the bestial world of Animatros. Predacon himself had plucked the artefact from Grimlock’s hands, moments after he collapsed from Energon exposure. Though lacking the time to finish off his foe, he nevertheless put the downed Dinobot to good use. His head was too thick for one of Insecticon’s cerebro-shells to penetrate, but the cruel curves of his armour were perfect for the secreting of a tiny, long-range listening device.

“A bug made by a bug,” Insecticon cackled. “It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

Predacon nodded, but did not speak. His long-held suspicions had been confirmed. His erstwhile ‘god’, Flame Convoy, had indeed been something of a deity. Now the source of his strength belonged to Predacon… but it was just a taste of the real power on offer.

If he were to gain control of this Plasma Energy Chamber, Predacon would have the means to forge an entire army of Terrorcons – a massive, clone-like horde of his beloved soldiers – and overrun Megatron’s pathetic Decepticons once and for all. The True Path would dominate Autobot and Decepticon alike, bringing the blissful goals of technorganic advancement to all of Cybertron… by force, of course.

A growl rumbled around his feet. From his spot on the floor, Battle Ravage offered his assessment of the situation. Divebomb was not around to translate, but Predacon nonetheless understood the metallic jaguar.

“Yes, Grimlock is expecting us to make a play for the Chamber,” Predacon agreed. “And, on Cybertron, we shall have to face him – and likely Swoop and Fang Wolf – without the home-field advantage we enjoyed on Animatros.” He grinned horribly. “I still don’t see that as much of a problem, do you?”

Battle Ravage made a low crooning sound. Predacon recognised it as an expression of anticipation… anticipation for conflict.

“Gather the others,” he told Insecticon. “When Megatron orders the assault on Iacon – and it’s inevitable that he will – the Terrorcons will be on the front lines.” He laughed. “But only until _our_ agenda comes into play.”


End file.
